This is a Deep and Significant Title
by Olhado
Summary: Complete. This has been done for a while, but I didn't want to upload it before FSFF was done, as this is kinda a prequel. Sorta. If you squint at it.
1. Disclaimer and Prologue

A/N: This story was written just for the heck of it. Horde's still my project of doom, but I wasn't in a morose enough mood to work on it and this has been sitting around for months now, so I thought I'd fix it up and have some fun. Okay, some of the conversations on Evowriters acted as a bit of a prompt as well. Originally a very very very long roleplay transcript, but names and roles and characters have been removed to protect the innocent--this is pretty much all Olhado. I'm sorry.

Warnings: If you feel like you're being mocked by this story, flame me, because my ego depends on the occasional flame. Even if I'm only mocking myself, I'd love to offend everyone else while I'm at it. It gives me a feeling of power.

Ratings: PG for violence, implied swearing, gimmicky writing, OCs, illogical pairings, and, if I feel daring, an implication of an implication of something of a sexual nature.

The halls were empty and the punk's footsteps were almost too loud on the tile. There was something eerie about the total desertion of the school--and it really shouldn't have been eerie, because he had just served detention for two hours and there wasn't any reason for anyone else to be there. But it was still eerie. He walked faster, eager for open sky. Past the closed-up office and out the doors and he was not alone. Despite the time, there was some kid huddled out on the steps. The punk approached carefully, rather miffed that he wasn't the only person within miles--which would have been more fun.

"Hey." The kid jerked up his head as if awakened from a trance. He was a skinny Native looking sort . . . with thin eyes that were a straight black--i.e. no differentiated iris. Kinda creepy, really. First eerie, now creepy, hi ho. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for my dad." Careful, controlled tone. _What, does he think I look like trouble? He'd be right, man, he'd be right._

"Kinda a strange place to be waiting for your dad. School's been out for hours . . . "

"My dad didn't know that. I didn't either. I'm new here." Very wary and defensive. Would bolt or attack at the slightest provocation. _Well, well, what to do? What do you do with some clueless and alone kid dumb enough not to know his way home?_

"New here, huh." The punk felt a slight wash of aggression fall over him. Well, aggression added on his usual aggression, aggression on aggression . . . whatever. It'd been a bad day. The mohawked-one had beaten him at checkers, he'd accidentally (really!) leveled the guy's locker room in a fit of pique, not that they could pin it on him, and then got into a fight with the be-specticled one, because he was sure the be-specticled one had stolen his gloves--he was always losing his gloves. Then the be-specticled one had beaten him and that was really pathetic, although it wasn't his fault, because the mohawked-one had walked into the middle of it to read his petition to the school board and had knocked the punk over. Then he'd had to serve detention with the be-specticled one, except the be-specticled one had gotten out early, because the bald one had faxed the principal-one that the be-specticled one was badly needed at home for an emergency (uh huh, yeah right)--not that the punk minded the be-specticled one bailing out, because it was really galling to watch the guy use detention to do homework, those severe eyebrows tilted down as if homework were actually important. So, yeah, it'd been a bad day and the punk wanted to cause a little damage. Just a little. Yeah, what he wanted right now was a little gratification. A little independant show of power. He was perfectly aware that this kid in front of him was weak, vulnerable, alone . . . there was no kind of glory in attacking him and he'd catch detention again if he was seen. Oh well. The punk put on his best evil smirk and clenched his fists. "You don't know me then." There, that sounded uber threatening. The kid jerked, staring at him warily. He got partially to his feet.

"What are you talking about? If you're trying to scare me, I can think of better things for you to do. I don't scare easy, and I'm not as helpless as I look." The kid moved one hand in a concentric circle, as if feeling for a weapon. Blades of grass are pretty scary, you know.

"I'm not trying to scare you." The punk took a step forward. "I don't want to scare you. I'm much more interested in hurting you. Don't ask me why. I can't tell you why. Save you're right here, right now and people like me don't need much more of a reason." _Dude! That rocked!_

"Right . . . " The kid took a couple of rapid steps backward, starting more upright. "I'm so glad you're being honest about it. Now, how about you just leave me alone and I can tell everyone you pounded me. Even self inflict a few bruises. You're not . . . a total sadist, are you?" His voice was cracking a little . . . 

"Sadist? Maybe, maybe. I don't care." The punk lunged. His right fist caught the kid just under the jaw . . . or should have. At the last moment, he shifted his weight . . . and the punk's knuckles only caught him glancing on the lip . . . but not glancing enough to avoid reopening a large cut. He had blood on his fist.

The dark eyes flashed at him with a ferocity that was almost frightening. "All right . . . all right." The voice was cracking again. The punk lowered himself into a crouch. The kid might actually fight back. So, he dropped rapidly, lashing out with his feet in a ground hugging arch. The kid jumped backward, but not quite fast enough. The punk's boots caught him just under the knee. That did it. The punk was up in an instant, catching a flailing foot and yanking hard. Another grunt. He threw the leg down, hovering over the kid. Kid's face was taut with pain and defiance. He'll get up again in a moment . . . gotta . . . . The punk leaned back on one knee and leapt into the air, angling himself to deliver a crippling kick to the abdomen.

At that moment, the kid's hands flew up and together . . . and the punk felt a jolt slam through his body. His descent halted inches from his target, who glared up at him with a sort of grim surprise. 

__

Oh . . . another blasted mutant. The punk couldn't move . . . even thought was sluggish. He watched immobile as the kid slipped out from under him and staggered to his feet. The black irises were slowly growing, overtaking the whites of the eyes. He raised his hands over his head, expression set in intent, almost confused concentration . . . and then he brought his hands down in a balled, communial fist. The punk fell, landing badly on one leg. He winced, then glared at the kid standing practically over him.

__

"Whoa . . . hate to sound like Erkel, but . . . no, wait. That's not a good line. Um . . . can we use our names now, or is it early?"

The punk snorted, and cleared his throat, "You can introduce yourself and we can stop referring to you _as 'the kid,' but even though my identity is as obvious as a falling porchlight, I have to remain anonymous for a while--can we get on with it?"_

__

"Okay, okay. Um . . . what tone should I use? Dramatic? I could lower my voice, maybe."

"Do it in falsetto."

"I'm not going to do it in falsetto! Normal voice then . . . uh, strained with hurt because . . . right, you just practically killed my leg. Uh . . . "

__

"Just say your name, man!"

"I'm supposed to make up a code name, too. That's kinda geeky. I mean, Mys--"

"No names yet, remember!"

__

"Drat. Uh . . . okay. Let's try this again."

. . . . The punk fell, landing badly on one leg. He winced, then glared at the kid standing practically over him.

"By the way . . . my name's Rafael . . . but you can call me . . . actually, what do you suggest?"

The punk slapped his forehead.

__

"Dramatic, huh? That's not dramatic! You're an Original Character--you have to have more style than that or no one will pay attention to you. 'What do you suggest?' Come on!"

"Well, I had one in mind, but it's obscure. All the good ones are taken!"

"Use the obscure one, then! We're losing reader interest with every aside!"

. . . . but you can call me Krait." 

__

"Okay, what the heck is that?"

"It's a snake. It's really cool, actually. See, it's this drab color and . . . "

"Never mind!"

Then he turned . . . and began a limping run. He had gone almost half a block before the punk started after him.


	2. Uh, I can't think of anything

Tabitha had absolutely no reason to be wandering the grounds of Bayville High, but somehow, she was, and enjoying it, even if it didn't make any sense. Thus, although she wasn't there to see the fight between Lance and Rafael, she was there to see Rafael limping away from Lance, pausing every few steps to throw peanuts at him. Wait? Were those peanuts? She couldn't tell. Maybe they were those styrofoam peanuts, although why would anyone carry styrofoam peanuts in their pockets? Except Tabitha, of course, who always carried styrofoam peanuts in her pockets. Hmm. Rafael limped past her and beaned her with a peanut. She didn't notice. _What was my purpose in this fic again? And how do I know everyone's name? What continuity is this?_ Suddenly, she vaguely remembered taking Rafael to an ice-cream shop, although she couldn't remember why, and that she had fallen desperately in love with him. "Huh." Tabitha took a second to vaguely gnaw on a thumbnail and contemplate Rafael's back--and got beaned with another peanut. Finally, she shrugged, and stepped into Lance's path. She smiled winningly, setting the back of her hands on her hips and standing in her own special way, "Whaddya doin', Lance? Chasin' poor little kids?"

__

"Hold on! Are you with the Brotherhood, X-men, or unaligned? I'm not getting any context clues."

Tabitha shrugged again, "What does it matter? I'm not even in character!"

"Point taken."

Lance scowled at her. "Chasin' poor little kids? That 'poor little kid' is a mutant . . . an unaligned one, most likely, just like you. And that 'little kid' needs a friend, right? I'm goin' after that little kid for his own good." _Yeah, recruiting time! Never mind that I just tried to clobber him!_ "If you'll excuse me . . . okay, Tabitha, you know him? How about you come with me, I ain't gonna hurt him. You can even make sure I don't hurt him; fine. But he's gonna hurt himself by running on that leg." 

"'Kay, then I'll help ya wit' him, but if you pull anything nasty," she shook a finger warningly, "Ya know what I can do."

__

"WHAT IS WITH THAT?" Tabitha snarled, breaking the story into an aside again. 

"We know, we commiserate. It's just gonna get worse, so calm down. Fight the good--man! the pithiness of all this is starting to rub off on me."

"'Your vote of confidence is overwhelming'" Lance snickered to himself. "Very well, Tabitha . . . very well." Lance's leg wasn't a whole lot better than Raf's . . . but nonetheless, it wasn't too long before the kid was in easy sight. "Rafael . . . oh, Raf . . . sorry, the whole thing was a big misunderstanding." 

Rafael stopped. But he didn't look terribly impressed. He looked a little confused at Tabitha's prescence and was panting heavily and that was about all. "A big misunderstanding? What kind of idiot do you take me for? You tried to kill me, as far as I could tell . . . and you expect me to shake hands and make up? Tabitha, do you know this kid?" 

The sky darkened. Lightening flashed. The half gone sun was wreathed in shadow. Electricity flared along the forefront of buildings. The epicenter of all this was stomping out of an alley, in boots so heavy they burst the concrete.

Wanda had entered the scene.

Lance smiled grimly at Wanda, releaved to see _someone_ aligned, particularly aligned on his side. "I got a situation here . . . " He motioned toward Rafael, who had edged a little farther away. Lance suspected that the only thing holding the not-particularly-happy mutant down was Tabitha. "A new mutant . . . think we can deal better with him than . . . . . I forgot?" 

__

"He-ey, you said I couldn't do that."

"Shut up, Raf."

Rafael growled in the background. "What are you talking about . . . dealing with me better? Look, I'm an obvious mutant, what do you care? You and your . . . uh, female friend over there going to try and beat me up? You know what I can do." 

"Pelt peanuts at me?"

"Uh . . . I thought we edited that out." A widespread shaking of heads. "Drat. Peanuts, then." He held his palms out in a warning, almost bellegerant gesture. "As far as I'm concerned, you tried to kill me." 

Lance firmly planted his feet on the ground and started a very minor earthquake . . . but an earthquake nonetheless. Rafael took a step backwards, his eyes re-evaluating and uneasy. "Great . . . so you're a mutant, too." 

"You got that right, kid. And I'm offerin' you something. That . . . fight thing was a misunderstanding. I'd been told to keep an eye out for this new kid with dark hair . . . supposedly he was some kind of agent for our enemies. The X-men. You see, the X-men play a bunch of preppy idiots . . . all naive and the like, but in reality, they're elite warriors for the government . . . mutants trained to discover other mutants and cripple them." 

__

Scott Summers cleared his throat and folded his arms, "Waaaaait a minute there."

"I'm not writing the script, don't look at me!"

Tabitha narrowed her eyes at Lance, than at Rafael. "And supposedly, I'm not even supposed to talk for the next half page or so, because if I called Lance's bluff, it'd ruin the rest of the story, never minding the rest of the story doesn't make any sense. Actually," she glanced over her shoulder at Scott, "How'd you get here?"

__

Scott scratched the back of his neck, "Forge prank? Okay, okay, I'll leave."

Lance's brain was racing. _I only hope Tabitha doesn't speak up . . . I can hook this kid . . . he's not very strong . . . probably scared despite himself._

"Okay . . . mutant cripplers?" Rafael was not getting any closer. Again, he looked to Tabitha, who had gotten out her makeup kit for some reason and was checking her hairline. "Is this guy . . . ?" He shrugged and shifted his gaze back to Lance. "You thought that a kid like me was some kind of major threat, so you thought it was okay to shove my face in at the first oppurtunity? Talk fast, because I'm not buying this . . . " He rose his palms again and Lance was about out of ideas and he didn't like peanuts. 

He looked to Wanda--who was staring up at a skyscraper across the street, teeth gritted. "Wanda!" No response. "WANDA, THAT WAS YOUR CUE!"

She of the dark trenchcoat blinked and looked sullenly at Lance. "I'm busy."

"Magneto's not even in this fic. You're supposed to be obsessed with _me_."

She blinked again, but it was kinda an angry blink. "Why? What twisted continuum is this? Should this also not be in italics?"

"Forget it! Just say your lines, okay?"

Wanda closed her eyes and a few innocent fire hydrants exploded. "It angers me that you should doubt the words of Lance and not even consider that which he is offering you. You are a mutant, you are one of us, that is all that matters, unless you are workingformyfatherinwhichcaseyoumustdiehideously."

"Uh . . . " Rafael lowered his hands and furrowed his brow and finally decided to ignore the last bit. "No, that's NOT all that matters. That's not all that matters at all. Take this guy for example," He gestured at Lance. "Because he's a mutant we suddenly become best friends and brothers? You know what I think? I think he jumped me because he thought I was easy . . . normal human type prey. So, what do you guys do, you mutants? It's a little scary being different, sure, so you use your weirdness to become predators?" 

"That's not how it is at all . . . look, if I thought you were a normal human, I wouldn't have done nothin'. I'm not stupid. I don't want the world to know what I am." Lance felt lame in his lie. True, he liked secrecy, but he had really just attacked Rafael for the reasons the kid stated . . . easy prey. Not that he was about to tell him that. "Okay, say that you're right and I'm just some kind of mutant psycho. Sure. But what are you? You're alone now, ain't you. You said you were waitin' for your dad. How much of that ain't just denial that he's not comin' back . . . " 

"My dad doesn't know anything." Rafael snapped, "I'm not alone. I don't need you . . . _especially_ not you." 

"Okay, not me. What about her?" Lance pointed to Wanda, although he wasn't certain why. "She hasn't done anythin' to you and she knows what's going on in your head. The fear, the uncertainity. You know what you are. Come with us. We can protect you from yourself. You afraid of me? She'll protect you from me." 

Rafael glanced over Wanda incredulously. "Does she know about this?"

A long pause. 

Rafael grunted irritably. "Are we going to have to prompt her every time? Hello? Wanda?"

Wanda slowly lowered her eyes coldly, her trenchcoat fluttering in a wind that wasn't there. "I know everything, save for the location of my father. Save for the amount of spare change in your pockets, the . . . " She blinked. A few bricks in an adjoining alley shuddered and shattered. "I may act as your protector from . . . Lance unless you are workingformyfatherinwhichcaseyoumustdiehideously."

Tabitha yawned, closed her makeup kit with a snap, stretched, and stepped in front of Rafael. "Hey, y'all, let's not be all hasty here. Can we, you know, chill somewhere else where it's not so public?" She turned around and smiled in that ol' winning manner at Rafael, "And I'll protect ya, kid. It'll be fun."

Rafael stared at Tabitha, chewing on his lip. Finally, he whispered, "Uh . . . I can't remember. Were you my romantic interest, or was I yours, or are we just really good friends?"

Tabitha responded in an annoyed undertone, "I'm in love with you, but apparently not enough to make more than a cameo appearance in this fic. You'll be in love with Rogue . . . I think, but she'll hate you, and so you just get to wander around in a sea of angst until the author loses interest and fizzles the story out."

"Can I go home then?"

"Not until the author rips up your contract, disgusted by all the negative reviews. But don't worry. My prescense in the fic will help a little on that front."

"Would it help if I ripped off my shirt and quoted Swartzenegger?"

"Probably not. Don't."

"I was only joking." He cleared his throat and looked past Tabitha to glare at Lance. "She's right. Er, not about protecting me, but that we should get somewhere private. You 'benefactors' have some kind of gang hovel we can hide in?" 

Lance returned the glare in his own withering manner. "It's not a hovel. It just looks like one."

Wanda growled, "It is a hovel, because you are a slimey excuse for a . . . oh, what horror, I am supposed to have a crush on you. It is not a hovel, Rafael, and it is not far from here, but a mere half mile, do not call it a hovel for Lance does not wish you to."

Tabitha sighed, planting herself firmly next to Rafael, "I know you're under a lot of stress right now, what with the author conveniently forgetting to write in your parents and throwing you in with an unrealistically belligerant Brotherhood and putting only me on your side, but . . . " she inhaled, " . . . have comfort in the fact that this is probably the only hug you'll get this entire storyline." Thus she hugged him, "Besides, there might be other mutants that you can make friends with, provided they're out of character."

Rafael tightened in her grasp involuntarily. There had been so many asides this chapter that it was certainly time for internal ramblings. It took him a long second to relax enough not to be a hard mass of bone and muscle . . . and then it felt kind of good but, still unexpected, and to his instinctive dislike for being touched, uncomfortable. He drew politely away. If he had been truly, cryingly upset, he would have welcomed the hug. As it was, he was just agitated and almost aggressive. He was tempted to assert once again that he did not need to be taken care of, but decided against it. "Other mutants . . . how nice. Does anyone else find it strange that all these uh, talented people should be so close toget-never mind. Lead the way . . . _Lance_." He put a little more emphasis on the name than he should have. Naturally, he had no fondness for the psycho, but the idea of other mutants did interest him. A lot. Genetics had always been a field he had devoured . . . what was he saying? He was a genetic anomaly himself! _Still, in some awful disturbing way . . . it's kinda cool._

Lance walked up in front with Wanda. Because of Raf's leg, he and Tabitha were lagging a little behind . . . in any case, out of hearing range for whispers. "Okay, this kid is a little weird. I know Mystique wants us to recruit everyone we can . . . but he's a wimp, you know? Might as well pass him to the X-Men, not that they'd want him, but--do you think we can tone down the mutant dominance thing? Pass a hint to Mystique?" 

Wanda scowled, "All children must learn to become adults. Mutants are the power, he must learn to accept that, else he will die."

Lance grumbled under his breath, "Can't you think of any other options?"

The Brotherhood house loomed up on the end of the street, a few lights flickering wanly in the lower windows. Lance was about to point it out when he felt something . . . sizzling on his shoulder. He yelped and flicked it off seconds before it exploded.

"Taaaaaaabitha!" He whirled, fists clenched. She was laughing at him and Rafael was snickering "discreetly" behind his hand. Well, that's enough. "That's not funny. Wanda! Did you see what she just did?"

"No."

Lance rolled his eyes and snarled again, "What kind of mutant are you, using your powers just to give you and your stick limbed boy pet a little-" 

"Okay, Lance, that's it!" Rafael took a couple of hard steps forward on his bad leg and fell on his face.

It was Lance's turn to laugh. "What's it?" he sneered, "Are you upset I called you a bad name, Raffi? Or are you seriously trying to defend sweet little evil incarnate Tabitha over here?!"

Rafael pushed himself off the pavement, spitting gravel, and trying to get up somewhat quickly. "Ah . . . ow . . ." 

"Line!" Lance hissed.

"Right . . . ah, Oh, so she can't have a little fun, and you can, I-can't- help-it Lance. You have to be so tough all the time . . . that's all that matters to you." 

"And you have to be so pathetic all the time." 

Now Tabitha started laughing again, harder than ever, until both Rafael and Lance turned to look at her.

"Hey, that's not supposed to be funny."

"We're _trying_ to be macho."

Tabitha whooped and slapped her knee, "Do that again, Raf! The 'you have to be so . . . ' that was good! But you've _got_ to crack your voice again in the middle, or it won't work. AH HAH HAH HAH!"

"Eh." Rafael reddened and hitched his shoulders. Lance just snorted. Wanda cracked the pavement, annoyed by all the noise. Finally, Tabitha managed to calm down, "Okay, okay . . . heh heh . . . Lance, your . . . cue."

Lance glowered at Tabitha, "Tabitha . . . you wanna ever get along with other mutants, you'd better cut out trying to play both sides . . . or, you ain't gonna last half a second when you get both us and the X-men on your puny, jackal back . . . miss I'm just too aloof and special for everyone." 

Tabitha whooped again. "Sorry, sorry! AH HAH HAH HAH!"

"Crap," Lance growled, jerking violently on the flaps of his jacket, "How long _is_ this chapter?"

Rafael knelt down on the ground, seemingly peering through the grass, "Half a page, tops. Let's just get this done with." He stood up, favoring his bad leg and trying to look kind of threatening . . . for his height of five four. "Lay off Lance . . . until you can give me some idea what's the priveledge of being one of you . . . not alone or one of the 'evil X-men' who send skinny black haired boys to assassinate Mighty Rock men." 

"Shut up." Lance shoved a finger as close to Rafael as he could in a millisecond . . . which was not quite close enough to get him in the chest . . . than pointed fiercely toward the Brotherhood house. "Once we get in there, it will all be clear . . . " He dropped his arm. "Okay? Is that a wrap? Can we actually go inside and evict Tabitha from the fic next chapter? I'd kill for a hamburger."

Freddy poked his head out the door of the Brotherhood house and called, "Me as well, Lance, and Todd and I have had naught to do, but burn candles, which is incongruously Gothic. I do not suppose we are bereft of an electricity payment this month?"

"I'm not going to worry about it until next chapter!" Lance barked back and made a cutting motion off screen.


	3. Oh really, why are you reading this?

The door flew open with great force, propelled by the naked power of Lance's mighty hand. Freddy and Todd jerked uneasily from the couch and the television snipped off with a scream of static. The author leaned back in her chair in gratification that she'd pulled off the alliteration and quietly flicked Tabitha back into her subconscious, feeling far too lazy to deal with actual goodbyes.

Dialogue resumed, after only one longish dramatic pause in which Lance stood framed in the doorway.

"Todd, Freddy, we got a guest."

"A female one?" Freddy asked with great weariness, retrieving the remote control from the back edge of the couch and clicking it futiley.

"Close enough."

"Hey!" 

Todd yawned. "Yo. There, I've made my contribution."

Lance tapped a finger against the door impatiently, "Come on, guys, it's a _recruit_. This is _important._"

"Fine." Freddy stretched and stood up, scratching his mohawk. "Where is he?"

"Oh." Lance stopped taking up the doorway and called sweetly, "You can come in now, Rafael."

Rafael took his time, but finally shuffled in, the sulky hunch of his body making him look smaller than he actually was.

Todd finally looked from the dead television with a hint of interest, "Lance, I don't remember. Do we all torment him unmercifully until he runs crying to the X-Men or do we automatically take him in as an invaluable member of the team and where's Wanda?"

Sorry, I forgot, muttered a deep and ephemeral voice and Wanda strode imperiously in, knocking Rafael down, and breaking a window.

Lance scratched his head, glancing sidelong at Rafael, who was trying to get up and examine his rug burns at the same time. "Well, _I'd_ say we torment him unmercifully, but the Great Sadistic Author demands that we take him in and razz him for a bit, but eventually, yeah, consider him an invaluable member of the team."

"Why can't I join the X-Men again?" Rafael groaned, finally giving up on the "getting up" part and merely leaning against the wall with his legs splayed out.

"Oh, oh! I remember this part!" cried Todd, "He can't join the X-Men for several reasons. One, they're not angsty and rebellious and cool enough . . . "

"What?"

"You're _supposed_ to be angsty, rebellious, and cool, Rafael," Lance explained, "and if the Author chose to intially stick you in the X-Men, you'd be too cool for them and eventually, you'd come over to us. It's easier this way. Except, you're _not_ angsty, rebellious, and cool."

"I know. So why am I _here?_"

"Uh . . . go on, Todd."

" . . . right, we were on two. Two, Xavier has too much money and a properly cool character has to be dirt poor and vindictive about it. Three, the Author has several evil things in store for you which wouldn't work if anyone gave you any sort of clear information and we're all supposed to be antagonistic punks, so we won't. Four, when the Author _tried_ to stick you in the X-Men, it was only because _Kitty_ beat you up _instead_ and not only is there something kinda whacked about that, but once you _were_ in the X-Men, you didn't have anything entertaining to do except get creamed in all the Danger Room sessions." Todd inhaled. "So that's why."

Rafael blinked. "I didn't catch a word of that."

Freddy shrugged and carefully got off the couch with an extended creak. "If you ever had a deviant idea that fanfiction was supposed to make sense and not work according to random and arbitrary rules . . . "

Todd tossed the remote idly to the ground and stretched, "Okay, now that's over, can we get in 'character'?"

"Can Wanda get into a character that doesn't involve destroying the house again?"

Wanda steadfastly and loudly ignored Lance's request as a light bulb unscrewed itself and smashed on the ground.

Rafael blinked. Lance rolled his eyes and, with an over-extended growl, reached down and pulled Rafael to his feet by the slack of his collar, "You gonna call my house a hovel again, stick boy?!"

"Uhhhhh . . . "

"Didn't think so, wimp." Lance dropped Rafael, who promptly collapsed on the carpet. Another long moment . . . then Lance sighed in exasperation and stuck his hand out. "Okay, okay -- just get on your feet and stay there. Take as long as you need, whatever."

Rafael rubbed his throat with a distinctly wounded look before finally using Lance's arm to drag himself upright. 

"Man, can't you take _any_ damage?" 

"Look," Rafael rasped, "I'm five foot four, I weigh less than a hundred, I'm not _built_ to take punishment."

Lance pulled out a sheaf of papers, slapping them against his palm, "Punishment is in the _script_, we have to follow the . . . okay, fine. We'll stop pretending you're the hulking tough The Author type cast for us and skip the initiation scene. Todd -- I think you're supposed to show him his room?"

Todd nodded with another, more pronounced, yawn and hopped leisurely next to Rafael, "Yo, you want a room, foo'? See if you can follow the Toad . . . foo'." The psuedo-threat sounded dull and half hearted and Todd's subsequent "race to the room" was so slow that Rafael had to take fairly small steps so as not to over-take the other mutant. Finally, Todd drew himself up and tapped a door with a ghastly pale hand. "This is yours. Used to be Pietro's, but he ain't with us no mo', so you get it. Careful," he said with a nasty green sneer, "there's one heck of a hole where th'outside wall used ta be."

"Hole?" Rafael said uneasily. "Don't you have . . . I dunno, a closet somewhere?"

"Sure, if you don't mind sleeping on a pile of discarded underwear and broken appliances."

"Actually, I don't. I used to be quite comfortable . . ."

"Raf," Todd hissed in an undertone, "be a _little_ more indignant about this so we can close the scene already?"

"Oh, all right. Uh . . . how dare you . . . suggest . . . I sleep on underwear? How's that?"

"Do you have to keep asking? . . . Have you ever done this before?"

Rafael scratched the back of his neck, "Well . . . I've been an extra twice. Even a villain extra! Although . . I don't think I did anything more threatening than read a few lines of poetry and faint."

"Terrific. Okay, look. I'm a wimp, too, you know? I understand your pain -- but you've _got_ to at least _pretend_ to have an attitude if you're going to hang with us, right? Personally, _I_ don't care, but The Author has a reputation or something to uphold and we're at her whim, right? So, maybe think of this as a _third_ practice chapter, but next chapter, show the audience more crazy attitood-ness than they can stomach. If _I_ can manage it, _you_ can manage it." Todd cleared his throat and sneered again, "I can dare suggest you sleep on underwear, foo', 'cause you ain't worth nothin'. If we didn't need the numbers, foo', we wouldn't need you. So you shuffle on into your room and don't you say anythin' more, or I'll sic Wanda on you, got that?"

Todd shoved the door open and gave Rafael a mock bow, "So go on in, my leige . . ."

Rafael stared at Todd, then quickly slipped around him to peer past the door jamb. "Actually, this isn't too bad . . ."

Todd groaned loudly and slapped his forehead, "Here we go again . . . "


	4. Are you that fascinated by blood plasma?...

__

Dear Mom,

Decided not to sell blood plasma after all, although I do need the money. But I did find a way to pay for my next semester of college -- I've gone from being a part-time Original Character to a full-time Original Character for the extent of the holidays. The hours are pretty bad, though. I guess I'm too used to having free time -- I mean, as it is, I'm amazed I can even write this letter. The work isn't too great and the pay's only all right, but there's not really that many jobs in this area of Chuckwalla and you take what you can get . . .

"Hey, Rafael, you up yet? Fic's starting and we're going to hone right in on your first day at school. The script's a riot, too! _I'll_ enjoy it, even if _you_ won't!"

__

Sorry, Mom -- gotta run. Don't worry about me . . . you know I'm a whiner. Oh, and here's something funny -- my Original Character background demands I don't have any parents so I'm practically breaking a law by sending this. I'm such a rebel. Wish me luck . . . 

A smallish, dark featured kid slunk into the Phys Ed room like a particularly skittish rat caught with a piece of . . . I don't know, something or the other. He quietly presented a signed pass to the teacher and sat at an empty seat in the back of the room. Rafael had finally entered the classroom. There was something very angsty about that.

Rafael dragged out his notebook, feeling a gnawing flutter in his stomach. A pencil quickly followed the notebook onto the desk and he tried to concentrate on the teacher . . . although he had very little idea of what was going on in the class.

A girl whose hair was oddly white in front was sitting next to him. She wasn't . . . bad. Hmmm . . . not at all. Rafael didn't mean to stare, but she caught him doing exactly that, her eyes narrowing into a belligerant glare. "Can I help you?"

"Uh . . . sorry, no." Rafael blushed and looked away, cursing himself. "Sorry."

"I haven't seen you before. New?" 

"Yeah, I'm new here. Just moved in from Utah, uh . . . . kind of a change, huh? Uh, I'm Rafael." He smiled sheepishly, trying to ignore the painful knot twisting in his stomach. 

The girl snorted and might have said something, but the teacher tapped the top of the video console, scowling at the class and, Rafael thought, him in particular. "This video," the teacher barked, "is about the dangers of non-comformity and why we should all be cheerleaders and football players. Pay attention. This will be on the test and if you flunk that portion of the test, you will be expelled from school." With that, the teacher punched the remote and a garishly pink and blue title flashed on the screen "Being Happy and Popular at School: For Girls and Guys."

Rafael's eyes widened slowly at the title of the video. "You have got to be kidding." 

The teacher scowled murderously at him until he bit his lip and averted his eyes -- using the oppurtunity to give the script concealed under his backpack a covert glance. Yeah, it was there all right. [Garishly pink and blue title flashes "Being Happy and Popular at School: For Girls and Guys."]

The girl next to him was audibly fuming. He could oddly make out every word of her mutters. "Stupid school, trying to keep us down. It'd be worth flunking to teach them they can't oppress us like this . . . "

"Uh," he found himself saying, "I don't think this is . . . real -- it has to be a . . ."

"Shut up," she spat, "You're just like them if you aren't angry. You nerds always support the system!"

"Uh . . . " he began, wondering how the girl could be practically shouting and the teacher be totally oblivious. "He can't really expell you, I don't think, for . . ."

"They can do whatever they want. It's horrible! I hate my life!"

"But . . . "

"You don't understand. You think you do, but you don't. No one ever understands! Xavier doesn't understand, Scott doesn't understand!"

"Xa . . . who? Hold on -- who are you?"

"It ain't your business, you creep!"

"Uh . . . okay. Sorry, I . . . "

The girl leapt to her feet, one pale finger pointing imperiously at the teacher, "You force of evil!!!"

The teacher finally looked at her. "What?"

Her imperious finger swung down at Rafael, "_See!_ I'm expelled and it's all your fault!!"

"But . . . "

"_Don't you dare give me 'but' you slimy insidious worm!!_"

"But you're not . . . "

The teacher ran a hand through his hair, "Uh, it's time to proceed to the . . . gym portion of our class. We'll see the film later."

"I'll kill you, you subversive wretch, as soon as we get outside," the girl hissed through her teeth as she gathered up her books and stalked past him.

Rafael's jaw hung open for a long time before he followed the class out -- almost involuntarily. It would probably be wiser to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the millenium.


	5. And this is about more blood plasma and ...

He had quietly followed the slowest of the kids into the gym when he stopped, really having no idea whether walking too far into the open would be a death warrent. _Maybe I should sneak behind the bleachers . . ._ Just then Lance wandered into his viewpoint -- apparently in gym the same hour. Oh, even better. Lance was swaggering and looked "in character" enough to start slamming anyone against anything just out of course.

"So . . . Rafael. Surprised you didn't just cut gym." Lance eyed Rafael's muscles with a deragotory sneer. "It won't do you a heck of a lot of good to attend." 

"Oh?" Rafael slipped into verbal combat mode instinctively this time. "I'm also surprised to see you. I'd suppose that this credit wouldn't do you any good either with a report card full of N/As, no doubt." 

"And how sure are you about that?" Lance took a long step forward. "You assume that because I look like a delinquent, and heck, probably am a delinquent, that I do not have school pride enough to attend classes? I am a Bayville Hawk . . . the hawk is a beautiful animal, with talons for tearin', shreddin', causin' death! I love this school! I put every ounce of spare energy into being a true member of the student body! I love cheerleaders! I think they are the personification of all that is good and pure in the world. My SCHOOL is the symbol of light! I love Bayville!"

About two sentences into Lance's speech, Rafael began to laugh -- maybe it was just because Lance really wasn't trying to be in character at all and that was kind of nice of him. Or maybe not and it really didn't matter. He was really laughing now and Lance with him. "Okay, okay . . . " Rafael gasped, "Give me time to breathe." He looked at Lance with a hint of admiration for the first time. At least he had some sense of humor. 

Rogue's rage had rather abruptly died down for no particular reason and smashing the volleyball so hard that all the people on the other team of both genders ran sqealing from its wake was suddenly a lot less fun. She vaguely remembered that wussy little Rafael that had so ticked her off some minutes ago and decided to leave sports and see what he was up to and whether she could knock him down once or twice before class ended.

She wandered around the margins of the gym floor, grey eyes flicking into every recess and shadow until she found him -- what would you know, hanging out with Lance. _Figures._

She forced herself into a flirtateous walk and sauntered over to the two boys, pulling her face into a false, toothy smile. "He-ey."

"Uh . . . hi." Rafael said, his half-relaxation stiffening into terror. _Her . . ._

"Hello." Lance kept his voice confident, although he was a little unsure about the situation himself. Rogue didn't usually act like this -- even when the script demanded it, Rogue kept a professional distance from silly material even as she acted it out. It was almost certain that this "Rogue" was an author construct instead of the real thing -- the real Rogue was probably being chartered elsewhere. Which could make this situation very dangerous.

"Why so stiff?" the Rogue construct said, placing her hands on her hips, "Aren't you happy to see me, Lance? Oh," she looked at Rafael, "what was your name again? I'm Rogue. I was so terribly rude before, I forgot." 

Rafael glanced quickly at his feet . . . not as though there was anything wrong with them . . . wait . . . his shoe was untied. As if that mattered at that very moment. _Something's wrong . . ._ "Rafael Don," he said, looking up and seeing the suddenly proffered hand. It was larger than his and gloved in leathered black and he hesistated before accepting it. "Pleased to meet you . . . sorry for the 'uh . . . hi' thing. And, uh . . . everything else." 

"No problem, Rafael. It's that time of the month. So, you said you're new?"

Rafael and Lance exchanged nervous glances without even realizing they did it before both turning back to Rogue. "Uh . . . great, and yes, I am new here." Rafael said carefully. "But heck, we all have to be new sometime . . . I just decided 'now' was a good time . . . and so, eh, here I am." 

Lance tried not to roll his eyes. For such a so called intellectual, sometimes the kid had no sense at all -- even less sense than his inexperience called for. This was an especially aggressive construct and even more robotic than most. Probably malfunctioning. Cool was called for, not deference. Sometimes you could scare the construct off. "Ah, Rogue, don't let this kid fool you. He may look like some kind of geek, but he's got a hard layer of danger under that skin. Keeps the girls on edge." Rafael glared at him . . . Lance grinned wholeheartedly back, briefly caught in the moment. All that took a matter of milliseconds before they were both facing Rogue again. 

"Hard layer of danger, huh? Too bad his body doesn't show it. Too bad it's hidden," Rogue sneered mechanically, placing a heavy hand on Rafael's shoulder.

Rafael swallowed reflexively. "Eh heh, you're very . . . witty." Thanks a _lot_, Lance. 

Lance shrugged helplessly just as the ends of the bleachers nearest them began to twist and warp.

Wanda had entered the gym. 

Rogue snarled ferally for no particular reason. "You!"

Wanda ignored her, walking deliberately over to Lance, "Lance, why are you facing this Rogue kid as if she were worthy of notice?"

"Calling me a kid?" Rogue snorted, something she apparently liked to do. "Trying to defend your rough neck boyfriend?" 

Lance's hair rose on the back of his neck. _Great . . . trouble. Good old female competition. I mean, sheesh, Wanda, I know you better anyway . . . she's just a contruct, I could use your help . . . sheesh._ "Rough neck?" _Start with the insult._ "Now, Rogue, let's get this straight. I am a delinquent, not a rough neck. If I was a rough neck, I would be wearing a cowboy hat and probably dangling a straw from my mouth. I would talk with a Western accent and walk bowlegged. You look at me again and call me by the correct name, okay?" 

"She is also not a kid," Rafael said, suddenly having a very vague and ever so slightly mischievious idea. "You see, Wanda, a kid is a young goat. Rogue is a female human in the adolescent stage of development." Out of habit, he began to pace, keeping his eyes in a small arch from Rogue to Lance to Wanda, "This stage of development is noted by overheated emotions particularly toward the opposite gender, as certain teachers in this school will not tell you. In other words, this stage of development is very amusing to watch in action, especially to nerdy scrawny kids who never fit into the interplay anyway." He spread his arms as he reached the end of his exaggerated speech, grinning in the most infuriating manner he could manage. _I hope I know what I'm doing . . . I think I used my entire vocabulary right there . . . but even if they can't follow the dialogue, they'll get the grin. And hopefully, their annoyance towards me should pull the tension between themselves. Hopefully they won't kill me as a second option._

"That's really cute, Lance," Rogue sneered (again!), as she abruptly grabbed Rafael's wrist and dragged him toward her. "You're cute, too, skinny boy. Although I think you're talking to compensate for something, you know what." Unfazed by Rafael's stricken expression, she pulled him closer until she could whisper in his ears. Lance couldn't hear . . . she really was whispering, a rare thing in fanfiction, but he could tell by the progressive reddening and then blanching of Rafael's face that whatever she was whispering was . . . She finally shoved Rafael away, back toward Lance and Wanda. Rafael caught himself mid-stagger and looked so firmly at the ground that Lance was sure he was fighting back tears. 

Lance exhaled very slowly and looked up at Rogue. "Get out of here. He didn't deserve that." 

"Gonna make me, rock head?" Rogue sneered, as if her face was programmed that way, "And he deserved it. Want me to say something to you, too?"

"There's not a thing you could say to me that would make any difference, Rogue. I've heard it all, he hasn't. So, that's enough. We're just about done with this script."

Rogue chewed on her lip, "No, we're not. Hey, Wanda, wanna fight?"

"What?" Lance's question was swallowed by a sudden cacophony behind the wall as a series of water pipes exploded. 

Wanda was actually retreating, having the forethought to know that something odd was going on, but hadn't retreated quite fast enough. For no apparent reason, as soon as Rogue challenged her, her power went off madly and something blew up beyond her and just as she ran out the open doors, they swung shut and practically _welded_ themselves together and to the doorjamb, completely airtight.

"That's not . . . " Wanda never finished her sentence. The massive hand of The Author flicked her out of the fic. As an afterthought, she did the same to Rogue . . . one didn't want to write with so many characters for such long stretches of time.

"Oh _crap_. Crap crap crap," Lance pointed wildly at the water pouring relentlessly into the gym from the walls. We're gonna die . . . you _know_ The Author won't do something logical like have someone outside turn off the flippin' water main."

Rafael had ripped himself out of his stupor immediately after the explosion and was watching the streaming torrents with an air of concentration, which was all very nice, as long as something would come _out_ of it. _I could avalanche that wall down easily and the gym wouldn't fill up . . . except, I could also bring the roof down. Or . . . maybe I could just do a little avalanche and hopefully drain something somewhere . . . but my power isn't working! That's not even . . ._ Lance swallowed, massaged his forehead with his fingertips and shouted, "Rafael -- I think this is going to be up to you!"

"I . . . I think I can hold it off . . . " he called back, "for a bit! But can't you knock down the doors or . . . "

There was a deeper explosion and a huge gush of water enveloped them both and flung them hard against the opposite wall. Lance choked and flailed wildly before finding his bearings among the pain shooting up and down his back and the water pressing so fiercely against his body it was almost impossible to stand. He vaguely heard a few kids screaming and clattering up the bleachers, although there should be more kids and more screaming and clattering and The Author probably didn't care.

"Rafael!" 

A loud coughing excuse for a breath to his side was enough of an indication -- Lance shot his hand down in a desperate parody of his grab last night and caught Rafael by the back of his shirt and pressed him against the wall until the smaller mutant had braced himself sufficiently. 

"Th-thanks," Rafael gasped, digging into the walls with his nails.

"Don't thank me -- you said you could hold it off -- can you? It's getting bad."

"I d-don't know . . . so m-much."

"And what we need is Jean and I can't do anything. Think The Author will pull a deux ex machina and get us out of this?"

"I'll . . . I'll do it . . . "

He closed his eyes as the water begin to churn around his skinny chest. Lance pressed him harder against the wall with his arm and hoped it would work.

This had been scary at the beginning and was considerably moreso now and Rafael didn't honestly know what to do or whether anything he did do would work. He couldn't even remember what Rogue had hissed in his ear and it would have almost comforting to be able to dwell on that, but he couldn't because it was all vague as if The Author didn't want to explicate it and the water was sucking coldly at his collarbone now, rising at its impossibly fast rate and he did have to do something.

He let himself out of his body into the grid-framework which his mutated brain percieved as not so much time, but the affect of time on everything in concrete reality. He instinctively located the fluctuating bulge in the grid that was the water as it poured from the wall and the bulge below it that was the water as it gathered in the sealed gym. He reached out and pushed against the filiments of the grid around the bulge of the water as it poured from the wall until they seperated and pulled away from the bulge. The bulge stopped fluctuating -- more stagnant than stone. He felt the pressure already building up behind the frozen section of water, felt it in his blood as a harsher, screaming pulsing. Each heartbeat paused ready to spurt out of his skin . . . he knew what was going to happen. _Just a little blasted longer . . ._

He felt, far off, disconnected, the cut under his chin reopen with an insistent twinge, then the cut under his fingernail . . . the half-healed relics from the first time his power had taken him. _A little longer . . . someone will send help . . . The Author can't kill us so early . . ._

Something big burst in his arm and Rafael was yanked so quickly back into his body that he retched helplessly blind against the wall. The pressure against his back was harder and someone was trying to talk to him, but he couldn't see and his dizziness was so intense that he suddenly couldn't tell where even the wall was and fainted.

"Raf -- Raf . . . " The water billowed under his feet and rose and Lance was torn away from the wall, only keeping his hold on Rafael by a handful of cloth. He tread water, gasping miserably as he swirled aimlessly in eddy after eddy and it was a second or so before he noticed that Rafael was somewhat less conscious than the average-dude-after-a-collision-with-Rogue. "Rafael!" He quickly pulled the kid closer, tilting back his head. "Breathing? Oh _crap._"

A long beam of red blew the nearest door open with enough force that the water drew back from it . . . then lunged forward in a roar out the sudden opening, sweeping Lance in its wake. The back of his head ricocheted viciously against the top of the doorjamb and he briefly and violently lost consciousness. When he struggled back into the pain, he was in the hall and the water was draining from under his body, easing him onto the damp tile, suddenly gentle now. Lance shook his head hard, trying unsuccessfully to clear it of the fragments of something lurid and undefined. Raf was draped bonelessly against him. Groggily, Lance shook one of Raf's shoulders . . . only to nearly drop him as a flush of blood welled from the connected arm. "Oh . . . " His voice sounded thick and whiny and things hurt. He sunk up against the wall with a sigh and tried to close his eyes again.

"Lance! You all right? No, stupid question."

"Uh?" Lance glanced up at something tall and indistinct above him, but couldn't spare more than a glance.

"Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah ahhh . . . " that one was Raf's creeling.

"Your friend's throwing up enough water . . . and he's got a huge black gash pouring out of his arm. I think he needs medical attention. You can accompany him to make sure I don't do anything."

"Don't need any help, Scott."

"I know. You never do."

"You're not supposed to be in this fic . . . yet . . . I remember."

"No, I'm not. Long harrowing explanation and I can't be here long . . . here, Rafael, if you're conscious enough? Good -- wrap that around your arm. I know it hurts. Good. I'm gone and quickly -- be careful, Lance."

"Oh, shut up . . . "

"Lance . . . hff, aaaah . . . we've got to leave, too."

Lance finally managed to do more than squint. "Yeah."

It was a slow process -- Lance had never had so much trouble getting up and Rafael was unsteady and 

trying to tie the bloodstained jacket tighter around his arm, but they both got up.

And slowly, deliberately, hobbled out of the school.


	6. And this is the end

I am moving this story forward.

Rafael nudged the drying patch on the jacket still wrapped around his arm gingerly, "That's just great. Just great. That way we can all heal up and things will be forgotten."

You are angry.

"You bet I am. You manipulated reality to get us into that situation -- if Scott hadn't broken through the plot barrier and let us out, we would have died."

Only temporarily. It's just a story.

"Well, it _hurts_ anyway. Why did you do that?"

To push you into action. The story is yours. You should have saved yourself.

"What do you think I _am_?"

An Original Character.

"No, you mean a Gary Stu. You wanted a Gary Stu. I'm not one, sorry."

Alas, you are not. I did try to get one.

"So I gathered."

I even tried to trade you in after you ruined the water scenario, but they don't usually allow returns. They did give me another Original Character to compensate me . . . and suggested I redraw your contract.

"You're letting me go? That's fine with . . . "

No, I'm not letting you go. They don't suggest that. I just redrew your contract. I will also set the other Original Character as your adversary.

"And he's a Gary Stu, isn't he?"

Hmmm . . . if you wish to use that term, yes. _She_ is a Mary Sue. She is extremely powerful -- almost all-powerful in fact, possessed of great excesses of angst, but strangely lovable, possibly because she is incredibly beautiful . . . 

"Don't tell me I'm supposed to fall in love with her."

No, that didn't go so well last time. You were also supposed to fall in love with Rogue, but you only exhibited physical attraction and only briefly for some reason.

"She was evil!"

That's no excuse. You don't follow the plotline well and that has to be fixed.

"By the redrawn contract, huh?"

I suppose you wish to see it.

"You bet. What are you going to do? Demand me to be angsty and bellegerent so I'll better fit your plot?"

Hmmmm . . . you could almost say that. We remember what we agreed originally? Five foot four, ninety pounds, Chinewayn, nearly useless power -- take careful note of the changes.

Rafael blinked in alarm as a sparse pair of papers appeared in his free hand. He read calmly for a second -- but only a second. Brow furrowing was perhaps inevitable, but perhaps not flinging the contract angrily to the ground, "_You can't do that!_ That's . . . that's . . . that's _sadistic_, that's _inhuman_, that's not even _logical_."

Funny that you should call it inhuman.

"_What's wrong with you?_"

I'll get what I want.

"How can you _do_ that to me?" he cried.

It's remarkably easy. Just words on a page. Just words on a page.


End file.
